


Love Me When I'm Gone

by Crowgirl



Series: Scars Remind Us [30]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Avoidance Behavior, Awkward, Bars, Dean Being Dean, M/M, Sam POV, Sam Trying To Be Helpful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-27
Updated: 2012-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-31 19:16:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ongoing discussion, and ramifications thereof, between Dean and Castiel about the after-effects of Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Me When I'm Gone

XXX.

Sam watches his brother in fascination. 

Barely ten minutes in the bar, and he’s chatting up a blonde with – are those really _bells_ on her shirt? As he wonders, she laughs at something Dean says and he can hear a faint, but real, jingling noise. He shakes his head and turns his attention back to the flat beer in front of him.

Beside him, Castiel watches the light play off the shot of whiskey he had, unexpectedly, ordered for himself. Sam didn’t know if the angel knows what whiskey is but figures he’s old enough to do what he wants.

In the light of Dean’s behavior, Sam figures Castiel gets to do _exactly_ what he wants.

He clears his throat. ‘So...uh...how’re you doing, Cas?’

Castiel regards him calmly. ‘I am fine, Sam.’

‘Uh...yeah. I mean...’ Sam takes a sip of beer, wishes he hadn’t, then tries again. ‘I mean...you and Dean...uh...I...’

‘I do not understand what you are asking.’ Castiel returns his gaze to the whiskey, tilting the glass slightly to watch the liquor slip down the side.

Sam sighs. _Join the club,_ he thinks and flicks the side of the beer glass with a fingernail.

The hunt wasn’t going well – Dean had figured out they were after a changeling nest and not ghouls pretty readily, but finding the damned thing wasn’t so simple. There didn’t seem to be a mother, no-one to track back to a lair and the little ones on their own were behaving...weirdly. Some of them were attacking to kill, some of them barely seemed to want to drain enough from their hosts to stay alive – two or three were actually in the hospital to the confusion of the local doctors who couldn’t understand how young children could become so malnourished so quickly and, equally baffling, almost entirely fail to recover. Social services were going out of their minds trying to prove child neglect – and failing. More than one parent was in therapy.

Since there wasn’t a lot of point in hunting in the dark for something they had no idea how to find and probably wouldn't recognize even if they tripped over it, going out to the bar had been Sam’s suggestion. Sitting in the hotel room watching Castiel look out a window and Dean stare at the ceiling had been getting on his nerves for the past two nights; he didn’t think he could take it for a third.

The bar was only a block from the motel so they could all have a drink which Sam needed; it was dim, fuggy, and had a continual soundtrack of ‘70s rock which he figured Dean needed; and Castiel approached the whole thing with his usual gentle curiosity.

Now, though, he wishes he’d suggested a movie, room service, freeze tag in highway traffic, just about _anything_ else. He hears Dean laugh again, then the girl’s tinny peal of bells, and shakes his head. 

‘Dean’s an idiot.’

‘Your brother is very intelligent. You should not underestimate him.’ Castiel’s voice is quiet, as it always was, but he cuts through the bar chatter and Sam hears every word.

Sam looks down at the end of the bar again, watching Dean stretch himself back along the bar, gesturing at the bartender. He catches Sam’s eye and winks; Sam scowls back. ‘That’s not what I meant, Cas.’

Castiel makes no reply.

‘I...just...’ Sam glowers at his beer for a minute, then says, ‘Why’re you letting him treat you like this?’

Castiel looks at Sam, then down the bar at Dean. The younger man takes a glass of something pink and frothy from the bartender and hands it to the girl with some remark that earns him another chime and a brilliant smile. ‘Your brother is doing what he feels he must.’

‘But he’s treating you like shit!’

Castiel shrugs, watching the girl toss back the shot and put her hand on Dean’s arm. She beams up into his face. ‘It is not important.’

‘It _is._ Cas--’ Sam falls silent as Dean comes over, the girl a step or so behind.

‘I’ll meet you back at the motel, ‘kay, Sammy?’

Sam nods, fixing his eyes on the bartop. ‘Fine.’

Dean says nothing to Castiel, just turns, pulling the girl against him with one arm, and makes for the door.

Sam sees a slight tension leave Castiel’s shoulders. ‘You shouldn’t let him do this to you.’ 

‘Your brother is doing what he needs--’

‘What Dean needs is a punch in the nose most of the time!’ Sam snaps.

Castiel seems to consider this suggestion for a minute. ‘If that is true, I do not believe I am the person to administer it.’

Sam snorts. ‘I don’t know about that – might be good for him.’

Castiel shakes his head. ‘I do not wish to hurt him.’

‘Why the hell not, Cas?’ Sam turns to the angel. ‘You two...I thought...you shouldn’t let him get away with shit like this!’

Castiel looks at him curiously. ‘Why not?’

‘I – you – it isn’t _right._ Dean shouldn’t get to treat you like this.’

‘I was not what he wanted.’

‘Oh, fuck that.’ Sam waves a hand dismissively. ‘Dean wouldn’t know what he wanted if it crawled up and bit him on the ass.’

‘I did not do that,’ the angel responds seriously.

Sam is blindsided by a sudden vivid mental image and rubs his eyes hard. ‘Uh – okay – whatever, anyway, that’s not the point. Dean takes what he can get, not what he wants.’

Castiel cocks his head. ‘In my experience, that is not the case. Your brother likes food, for example, very much; I have never seen him not take what he wants.’

‘I’m not talking about cheeseburgers. Forget food –’

‘And there is always his car.’

‘--okay, the car, but--’

‘--and the leather jacket that he--’

‘Yeah, I _know,_ Cas. He’s great on stuff but he’s lousy on people. I don’t know why. ...it’s like he’s afraid if he tries, he won’t get it or...or...’ Sam taps on the side of his beer glass. The beer is ice-cold – its only redeeming feature since it means he can’t really taste it – and the glass is beading with moisture; he draws an aimless pattern on the bartop with a damp fingertip. ‘When Dean was sixteen, he wanted this set of tapes. I don’t even remember what they were – greatest hits of Pantera or something. Anyway, he stuck money aside for months. Any town we were in, within twelve hours he could tell you where you could get those tapes.’

Castiel listens, his eyes fixed on the glass of amber liquor again, but his head tilts slightly towards Sam.

‘So he finally got together the money – I don’t even know how the hell he did it; we were living on friggin’ Pop-Tarts in my memory but...’ Sam shrugs, uncomfortable at the thought that, while he was living on stodgy breakfast food, Dean might have been living on less than that. ‘...anyway, he did it. And then Dad got sick. Like, Dad _never_ got sick – spells, voodoo, black magic – nothin’ touched him except this _one_ time and he went down...’ Sam whacks the bartop lightly. ‘Boom. And then I got it – whatever it was. Christ, it was awful. Dean was the only one still on his feet and that was only barely and that money of his went. It just about kept us in a motel room long enough for Dad to be able to see straight again.’

Castiel waits.

Sam is silent for a long minute, still doodling on the bar. This story was meant to explain something, but he thinks he’s failed.

It was meant to get across to Castiel that everything Dean _wants,_ everything he’s ever tried to get – that Sam knows of – just because it would make him happy, somehow manages to turn sour on him. Dean doesn’t trust in what he wants any more: he trusts in what he can get. If he wants it just _because,_ he assumes he can’t get it – or that it won’t want him back. And Sam doesn’t think that’s a distinction he can explain to the angel.

‘He kept you safe.’

‘What?’ Sam blinks.

‘He kept you safe. He wanted that.’

Sam laughs harshly. ‘Yeah! And look what he had to do for it!’

The angel is silent for a long minute then, unexpectedly, Castiel puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘Thank you, Sam.’ He stands up, trenchcoat rustling around his knees. ‘I will see you in the morning.’

‘Yeah...sure...’ Sam watches him leave.

* * *

Sam is dozing, a book open on his chest, when the motel door opens and Dean comes, flushed, clearly happy with himself. ‘Hey, there, little brother--’ Dean’s jacket comes flying at him. ‘--have a good night with y’rself?’

‘Fuck you.’ Sam catches the jacket easily and tosses it towards Dean’s bed.

‘Already been done, Sammy-boy.’ Dean half-falls on his bed, grinning.

* * *

Next night, new bar, and Sam tries to keep his eyes focused on the salad and burger in front of him but he can’t stop his gaze wandering up and over the bar to where Dean, against all previous evidence of sane behavior, seems to be making time with a man who could be Castiel’s younger brother.

Sam wants to pound Dean’s forehead on the bar until he sees stars. He glowers at his burger instead, poking resentfully at a bit of iceberg lettuce.

When he had come out of the men’s room half an hour before and seen Dean with the guy, he had felt an unexpected surge of relief: thank _God,_ Dean had stopped being a moron and was talking to Castiel again. Then Sam had seen Castiel still on the same stool he had been on all night, still watching Dean with the same cool gaze.

Sam takes his seat in silence, fixing his eyes on his food, trying to pretend he has any appetite. He glances up after a few minutes in time to see the nameless young man lean over, brushing a casual, possessive hand over the back of Dean’s neck. 

‘Fuckin’ _idiot_...’ Sam can’t help it.

‘Sam?’

‘My brother. Is a fucking idiot.’ Sam stabs at a french fry with a fork and breaks it in half.

Castiel makes no comment, but slides off the stool. ‘I will see you later, Sam.’

‘Wait, Cas--’ Sam turns around.

The angel pauses, waits.

‘Don’t...don’t...’ Sam has no idea what he’s trying to say: Don’t hate my brother, please, he’s only like this because he’s emotionally stunted? I’m sure he’ll be better any minute now and stop being a complete asshole?

‘I am not angry with Dean. Or with you, Sam.’ Castiel’s gaze goes past Sam’s shoulder for a minute and Sam sees a flash of unidentifiable emotion on his face.

‘Cas--’ Again, Sam struggles to find something to say and falls silent. It’s not like he _really_ knew what the deal was between the two of them anyway, but he knows that whatever it was has now gone definitively sour.

Castiel looks at him for a minute, then, oddly, smiles. ‘It is all right, Sam. You do not need to make excuses for your brother.’

**Author's Note:**

> Title from ["When I'm Gone,"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZmbHP6FUm9A) 3 Doors Down, _Away from the Sun._


End file.
